Chapter 48: The Royal Ministry
I sat at my mahogany study desk, staring at the thin sheets of paper Elias had placed in front of me. It ached my heart whatever was written on it.
Three thousand and twenty-four. That was the official count of the dead across the Principality.
And another fifteen thousand were permanently or partially disabled. Some had their lungs scarred so badly by the coughing fits that they could barely walk across a room without gasping for breath. Others had their minds permanently damaged by the high, untreated fevers, or had lost limbs to severe infections that we simply could not clean in time.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, a heavy guilt pressing down on my chest. In my previous life on Earth, public health was a basic right. Clean water, sterile hospitals, and cheap medicines were things people took for granted. But when I woke up in this world, I had gotten so caught up in forging black steel, printing paper money for money, and building cannons, producing rifles to kill that I forgot how fragile human life really is.
I had let my guard down. I had assumed that magic would always be there to patch up the sick. Because of my neglect, and because of my failure to prepare for a biological crisis, thousands of families were now burying their loved ones in the muddy earth of the Faith District.
If we had not successfully synthesized penicillin in the East Wing basement, the disaster would have wiped out half the capital. The rapid distribution of the golden serum was the only thing that stopped the rot. But we could not have done it alone. While my soldiers and the Venator Order carried the sick into the palace grounds, mages from across the realm had worked day and night to copy our fermentation process. The gentle priests and priestesses of the Elven Church of Ventaphala had worked alongside the Order of Deos and other minor shrines to carry the medicine to the furthest corners of the provinces. They had saved my kingdom when I was on the brink of losing it.
I opened my eyes, my violet gaze turning cold and sharp.
"Never again,"
I whispered to the empty room.
"I will never let a single, bigoted religious faction hold the survival of my people hostage again."
While the palace grounds were slowly cleared of the medical tents, a different kind of event was unfolding in the streets of Arthenburg.
For weeks, the Sanctus Humanitas Church had kept its massive iron doors shut. Bishop Crassus and his fanatical priests had watched from their high stone battlements as mothers begged on their steps, holding burning, feverish children. They had truly believed that the people would eventually break. They thought that when the death toll grew high enough, the citizens would rise up, force me to repeal the Edict of Emancipation, and restore the cruel laws of human supremacy.
They had vastly underestimated the power of science.
When the pandemic finally died down, the Sanctus Humanitas Church realized they were running out of food and coins. A church built on luxury and greed cannot survive without the heavy purses of its donors. Believing the danger had passed and expecting the people to return to them out of habit or fear, Crassus ordered the grand cathedral doors to be opened.
A group of priests stepped out onto the marble steps, wearing their finest red and gold velvet robes, holding out their heavy silver collection plates.
But no one came to kneel. No one asked for a blessing.
The commoners walking past the cathedral looked at them with absolute disdain. They priests shamelessly walked through the crowd. Then, a single, dirty commoner—a father who had buried his youngest daughter just three days prior—stepped forward holding a rotting tomato.
He threw it hard to the group . It struck the lead priest directly in the chest, staining the expensive red silk with wet, smelly seeds.
That was the spark. Within seconds, the plaza erupted. The quiet crowd turned into a furious mob. Rotten eggs, bruised vegetables, and even heavy cobblestones rained down upon the clergy.
"Monsters!" a woman screamed, throwing a heavy rock that shattered a stained-glass window of Homosanctus.
"You locked our children out to die!"
"Hypocrites! You preach the Divine Man but you have the hearts of demons!" a blacksmith roared, lifting his hammer.
The priests fled back inside in absolute terror, slamming the heavy iron doors behind them. Holy knights couldn't do anything if they respond in kind; they are openly declaring war on the Principality and will cause diplomatic incidents between Theocracy. They had to stand by the Cathedral. For three days, the people surrounded the cathedral, throwing stones and cursing any church-related figure who dared to show their face.
By the fourth night, Bishop Crassus realized his influence had turned into mud and his scheme to topple me had failed . Fearing that the angry mobs would eventually burn the cathedral down with him inside, the fat bishop packed his personal chests of gold into a plain, unmarked carriage. Under the cover of a pitch-black midnight, he and his closest inner circle fled the capital in fear, slipping past the southern borders to seek asylum in one of the neighbouring southern kingdoms.
Within a week, almost every Sanctus Humanitas church throughout the realm was empty, their priests chased out of the towns by the very people they had abandoned. The bigoted institution was ousted, leaving behind nothing but locked doors and the fury of a betrayed populace.
"She is waiting in the antechamber, Your Highness," Elias said, stepping into my study. The old butler looked exhausted, clearly he is overworking for the after effect of the pandemic.
"Bring her in, Elias. And make sure we have fresh herbal tea ready," I said.
A moment later, High Priestess Sylwen of the Elven Church of Ventaphala entered the room. She looked weary, the physical toll of working days and nights in the damp basement still visible in her gentle face.
"Grand Prince," she said, bowing her head gracefully.
"You summoned me?"
"Please, sit, Priestess," I said, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk. Once she had taken her seat and taken a sip of the warm chamomile tea, I laid out a fresh parchment before her.
"I am establishing the Royal Ministry of Population Health and Social Welfare," I announced. "And alongside it, the Royal Pharmacy Guild. I want you to serve as the Minister."
Sylwen's hand hovering over her teacup. She slowly set the cup down, her long, pointed ears twitching with discomfort.
"I am a priestess of nature, Grand Prince,"
"My place is in the open-sky shrine, tending to the chimes and guiding the spirits of the wind. I am not a politician. I do not understand your court, and I do not wish to learn its games."
"This is not a game, Sylwen," I said, leaning forward.
"Because of the populace's anger, the Human Church is out of the picture. Whether we like it or not, they are the cornerstone of our society's health. They might be gone, but the threat of sickness is not. If we rely solely on temporary magic and unguided herbal poultices, the next fever will kill another three thousand of my people."
I triggered my System's [Inspect] skill, studying her parameters once more.
The golden text hovered in my vision, confirming her S-Rank in Botany and her incredible, latent potential as the realm's first true Doctor. She had the mind, the fine mana control, and the deep, organic understanding of life that science required. Her magical affinity for wind and nature was perfect, but she would have to improve her practical medical skills through real-world trials and errors.
"You have the potential to become the greatest healer this continent has ever seen, you seem to possess the skills related to this" I told her.
"I am going to build a Royal Hospital. It will not be a temple own. It will be a state-run facility equipped with a massive, modern research laboratory. I want you to lead the research, to study the microscopic world, and to find cures for diseases before they can spread."
"But why me?" she sighed, looking down at her hands.
"There are human physicians in the capital who have served your family for decades."
"Because they do not understand the living breath of nature the way you do," I said.
"And because we both know you cannot refuse this offer."
Sylwen looked up, her wise eyes narrowing slightly.
"The Elven Church of Ventaphala is persecuted and ignored across almost the entire continent," I told her the hard political truth.
"The Kalian Empire hunts your people like beasts. The other kingdoms treat your shrines as secondary thoughts. My Principality is the only nation on this continent that grants your church official status, equal rights, and protection. Your elders at your secret headquarters in the Sea of Forests understand this."
She gasped softly, her ears pinning back.
"Yes," I smiled faintly.
"My Nightwatch network intercepted their communications. I notified them first and you already know what is coming even before this meeting. Your headquarters has already sent you a secret directive. They forced you to take this position because they realize this is the greatest opportunity your Church has ever had to prove their worth to the world and secure a safe, permanent home."
Sylwen let out a long, defeated sigh
"You are a very difficult young man to say no to, Grand Prince."
"I will take that as an acceptance," I chuckled.
"I am granting you the absolute authority to oversee both the Ministry and the Pharmacy Guild. But I am not leaving you to handle the administrative burden alone."
I turned to Elias. "Bring in Dr. Medicus."
The doors opened, and the Chief Royal Physician stepped inside. He was an older human man with a kind, serious face, dressed in a clean linen coat. He had worked himself to the point of collapse during the pandemic, personally supervising the tents on the palace grounds. His loyalty to me was unquestionable.
"Dr. Medicus," I said. "I am appointing you as the Vice Minister of Health. You will assist Minister Sylwen in structuring the Royal Hospital and managing the daily operations of the clinics."
"It is an honor, Your Highness," the doctor said, bowing deeply.
This was my check and balance. Sylwen was incredibly skilled, but her primary loyalty was still to her church and her people, not to me directly. Dr. Medicus would ensure the state's interests were protected, while his vast experience in traditional medicine would help smooth the transition as Sylwen and her priestesses learned the scientific method through trial and error. In time, I hoped to win the absolute, direct loyalty of the entire Elven Church.
"Now," I said, looking back at the map of the capital. "We need someone to manage the commercial side. We need a Master of the Pharmacy Guild. Elias, bring in Willian."
A young man in his late twenties was escorted into the study. He was incredibly thin, face pale and drawn from weeks of sleeplessness, hands were stained with dark blue chemical dyes and the yellow residue of herbal sulfur. He looked around the luxurious room, his body trembling so violently I thought he might collapse onto the carpet.
"G-Grand Prince," Willian stammered, dropping to both knees and pressing his forehead to the floor.
"I swear I did not mean to break any laws! The debts... I will pay them back, I swear on my life!"
"Rise, Willian," I said gently.
He slowly stood up, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
I turned to my system.
[Inspect]
[Name: Willian]
[Class: Pharmacist / Apothecary]
[Primary Stats: Pharmacy (Rank A) | Organic Chemistry (Rank B)]
[Key Traits: Morally Right (Altruistic) | Financial Ruin]
[Disposition: Terrified / Hopeless]
"You owned a medium-sized pharmacy in the middle district, didn't you?" I asked.
"Ye…..s, Your Highness," he answered nervously.
" When the fever broke out... we ran out of medicine within three days. Every other shop closed their doors. They turned the people away because there was no profit in treating the dying. But I... I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch the children die in the streets."
Tears began to roll down his soot-stained cheeks.
"I took loans, Your Highness," Willian sobbed.
"I went to the wealthy merchant cartels. They charged me astronomical interest rates—nearly fifty percent a week. I used every copper of that gold to buy clean water, firewood, and whatever basic herbs were left in the warehouses. My assistants and I worked twenty hours a day. We didn't turn a single patient away, even when we had nothing left but clean cloth and hot soup. But now... the cartel collectors are threatening to take my shop and sell my assistants into debt slavery."
I looked at him, feeling a sense of profound respect. In a world dominated by greed and corruption, this commoner had ruined himself financially just to give a shred of comfort to strangers.
"Your debts are settled, Willian,"
He blinked, looking up at me in utter confusion.
"Pardon, Your Highness?"
"I have already ordered the Royal Guard to arrest the merchants who charged you those illegal interest rates," I explained.
"Their assets have been seized, and your outstanding debts to them are officially annulled. Furthermore, the Crown is purchasing your pharmacy at twice its market value."
Willian's jaw dropped. He looked as if he were trying to understand a language he had never heard before.
"But I am not letting you retire," I continued, stepping down from my desk and placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I have a job for you. I am appointing you as the Vice Guild Master of the Royal Pharmacy Guild. You will work directly under Minister Sylwen. Your job will be to establish standard licensing exams for every pharmacist in the nation, manage the private pharmacy companies, and distribute research funds to individual apothecaries who wish to study new medicines."
I looked into his amber eyes.
"I chose you because you have the one quality that money cannot buy, Willian. You are a good man. You care about the lives of the people more than the weight of your coin purse. I need your heart to guide this guild."
Willian fell to his knees once more, but this time, he was not trembling in fear. He was weeping with a profound, overwhelming sense of gratitude.
"My life... my hands... they belong to the Crown, Grand Prince," he whispered, filled with emotion.
By the end of the month, the landscape of Arthenburg had changed once again.
Using the rapid-setting 'Leo Cement' and the tireless labor of the Libertas mana golems, Thorgar's engineers successfully constructed the massive, four-story Royal Hospital near the edge of the Faith District—a clean, white-stone structure with wide windows that let the summer sun flood the recovery wards
Deep within its heart lay the Royal Magi-Tech Medical Laboratory. Dozens of clean glass vats, copper distillation tubes, and magical heaters hummed with activity as the newly trained elven priestesses and common apothecaries worked to refine the penicillin production. They also started to research other projects.
The transition was not easy. There were many failures, and many mistakes as Sylwen and her team struggled to adapt traditional herbalism to the rigorous laws of modern science. But under my guidance, and with the steady, practical hand of Dr. Medicus, they learned from every error.
The people of the Principality no longer looked to the grand, empty cathedrals of Sanctus Humanitas for salvation. When they fell ill, they walked along the newly paved cement avenues toward the Royal Hospital. They received clean beds, warm meals from the royal granaries, and the glowing golden vials of penicillin administered by licensed, professional pharmacists.
The monopoly of religious magic healing was broken forever.
(Continue…..)